


How I Long For Yesterday

by the_scribbler666



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Depression, Feels, M/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:05:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4958050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_scribbler666/pseuds/the_scribbler666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a modern AU in which Patroclus doesn't follow Achilles into war. I was very much inspired by Katie Perry's "One that Got Away" though it is an original tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Long For Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> So, this piece is a frame narrative and it bounces from the present to the past. I tried to make the transitions as clear as possible by changing tenses and by dividing out scenes, but I thought I'd leave a note in case you didn't get that.

     It feels like being strangled. The tightness in my throat, coarse like sandpaper rubbing at the soft flesh. I wake with a violent cough. Twisting myself out of my comforter, stumbling to the bathroom only to collapse on the floor to dry heave into the toilet. After choking out what felt like a lung, I let my head fall onto the toilet seat. My head throbs and my stomach aches. And there's that emptiness in my chest that never seems to go away. I roll my head miserably to the side to glance at the clock on my bedroom dresser. 10:04. Shit, I'm late. I push myself up and stagger into the kitchen of my apartment. I search the counters, pushing beer bottled and dirty glasses out of the way in order to find my keys. I finally find them half buried in an empty bag of potato chips.

    I wince at the sudden burst of sunlight that's beaming down at me as I step outside, not expecting it to be so bright out.

     "God," I mutter, lifting my arm to shield myself from the piercing rays. I run across the busy street, only bothering to look one way, to reach my green station wagon that's parked along the side of the road. The door screeches when I open it, screaming like an injured animal.  _ I need to get that fixed, _ I think, sliding into the worn driver's seat. 

     I pull my car out and began to drive. I notice a couple loitering outside of a small store wearing matching orange shirts and fanny packs. How time flew. Was it tourist season already?  _ That would explain all of the traffic, _ I think as I pull to a stop. I lean out of my window, but I can't even see where the line of cars end.  _ Great, I didn't want to go to work anyway.  _ I lean back in my seat and let out a tired sigh. My still head aches. There's a pressure in brain, right between my eyes. And it's hot in the car. I let out a miserable sigh and my eyes uninterestedly fall on a large billboard advertising some mattress company depicting a smiling woman sleeping on a fluffy cloud. How original. 

    I let my eyes lazily scan over the other billboards lining the street. There's one advertising an insurance firm; another for a real estate company; there's one advertising a sport drink I know I'll never try. I stop. There is a billboard showing a happy family on a beach, holding each other and smiling. The little girl is building a sand castle and her parents are gazing at her proudly. Such a serene picture, it could have been real.  A single tear begins to roll down my cheek as a memory begins to tug at my brain. 

.  .  .  .  .

      "Smile!" Briseis shouted, leaning into me to take a selfie. "Ugg," she commented looking at the picture. "You know, Patroclus, you could at least try to look happy."

     "I am," I tried to argue. "I just don't see why we had to come to the beach."

     "Because you refused to go to any of the graduation parties we were invited to, and because it's summer! And not just any summer, but the summer after high school. We need to celebrate," she said. 

      "Yeah, but at the beach," I complained. Briseis rolled her eyes.

     "Oh, my God, this place barely counts as a beach. Now, are you going to wear that ugly thing the whole time we're here?" she asked, gesturing to the stripped T-shirt I had on.

     "Hey," I said defensively, "this is a nice shirt. And yes, I am."

     "Come on," Briseis urged, "this is the beach. No one cares that you're scrawny and pale."

     "I'm tanner than you are."

     "Whatever," Briseis said, rolling her eyes again. "Oh. My. God."

     "What?" I asked, turning to face the direction she was staring in. "Oh, my God." I felt my jaw drop open as I spotted a tall, shirtless god kicking around a soccer ball with some of his friends. He had his long blonde hair tied back in a shoulder length ponytail and had a smile on his face that could melt wax. I cocked my head to the side, admiring the way his muscles rippled while he ran. He turned to me, his bright green eyes catching mine, and winked. My jaw snapped shut.

     "Holy shit! Did you see that?" Briseis squealed beside me. I nodded, feeling a blush creep up my neck. "You have to go talk to him."

     "What? No," I said.

    "Oh, come on, why not?"

    "Well, look at him. He's huge. He could probably kill me in three moves."

     "And why would he do that?" Briseis asked, lifting a brow.

   "Because he's ridiculously hot which probably means he's just some straight athletic asshole or something," I answered. Briseis clicked her tongue.

     "You're just chicken," she whispered into my ear and skipped off down to the water.

    "Am not," I called after her, but she was out of earshot. "Chicken," I muttered under my breathe, plopping down onto the sand. I sighed and took a look around me. Briseis had been right. This was hardly a beach. There was an ocean and sand, but the edges of the beach were lined with huge boulders and cliffs. But that didn't stop it from being completely crowded. Everywhere I looked, I could see girls sun tanning or families building sand castles. I picked up a handful of sand and sifted it between my fingers. Then a soccer ball flew at me, hitting me right in the shoulder. 

     "Holy shit! Owww!" I cried reaching my hand up to rub the bruise that I felt growing under my skin.

     "Oh, my God! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," a voice called out to me. I looked up to see the tall golden boy standing up in front of me. "I'm sorry."

     "That's okay," I said bitterly, rubbing the sore spot. 

     "Hey, can you toss it back," the boy asked, giving me a sheepish smile. I picked up the soccer ball and threw it to the boy who caught it effortlessly. "So, you don't look too happy," the boy observed, turning the ball around in his hands.

     "Well, I did just get hit with a ball," I pointed out. "And I hate the beach."

     "What?" the boy gasped, his eyebrows flying up. "You're joking."

     "Not really, I'm only here because my friend forced me to be," I said. 

     "Smart friend," the boy observed. "Well, I love the beach. My mom owns a house by the water, so I'm always here."

      "Okay," I said, awkwardly. The boy looked down at me with a frown, and then brightened up.

     "Come with me," he said excitedly.

     "What?"

     "Come on," he gestured. I stood up and followed him to the rocks at the end of the beach. The boy rolled the ball away and began to climb. I glanced around myself for a moment, and hesitantly began to climb after him.

     "Where are you taking me?" I asked.

     "Can't tell you, it's a surprise."

    "Do you think you can? How do I know you're not planning on taking me somewhere to kill me?" The boy laughed.

     "I promise I won't. You have my word," he said.

     "That's reassuring," I muttered, my foot catching a bit on the rocks.

     "It should be, I never lie," the boy told me.

    "You never... okay," I said, deciding not to argue. We climbed on until the boy led us to a secluded part of the beach. It was a small pocket of land, surrounded by boulders and water, tucked in like a mini lagoon. "Wow," I gasped when I saw it.

      "See, I know every part of this beach," the boy said. "It's not so bad when there aren't any people around, is it?"

     "No, this place is great," I said, looking around. 

    "So," the boy said taking a seat, leaning his back against a rock. "What's your name?"

    "Patroclus."

   "Patroclus," he repeated, crossing his arms behind his head. "I like it. I'm Achilles, by the way."

   "Nice to meet you," I said, leaning against a rock. "So, um, you said you lived here."

    "I do. I literally live right here. In this very spot. You're standing in my kitchen," Achilles said. I chuckled. "And this," Achilles said, gesturing to where he was sitting, "is my bedroom."

    "Oh, yeah wise guy, where's your bathroom?" I asked.

    "Out there," Achilles said, pointing to the water. "The whole ocean."

   "Eww," I said, making a face. "Well, thanks for the tour I guess."

   "Any time. Say, Patroclus, if you don't like the beach so much, why are you here?"

    "Oh, my friend wanted to celebrate graduating," I answered.

    "Hey, I just graduated, too," Achilles informed me. "What was your class rank?"

    "Um, third," I answered.

   "Not bad," Achilles nodded.

   "What was yours?" I asked, sheepishly.

    "Fifteenth, but what do you really expect from a straight athletic asshole?" My face instantly began to flush red.

    "Oh, my God. You heard that, I'm so sorry," I began to babble. Achilles began to laugh.

    "It's okay, you judge a book by its cover. Most do. But I also heard you say that I was ridiculously hot, so you're not too far off," he said. I felt my face grow warmer. "So, now that you know me a bit, do you still think I'm a stupid straight athletic asshole?"

     "Um," I began. "you seem actually nice, though your, um, physique does suggest that you're, um, indeed athletic."

    "This is fair," Achilles said. "How about the other thing?"

   "What other thing?" I squeaked.

   "On a scale from one to a zig-zag, how straight do you think I am?" Achilles asked with a grin. My eyes widened, and I felt myself blush again. I reached up and began nervously tugging at my ear.

    "Umm," I stuttered, looking anywhere but at Achilles. "Um, is there a reason you brought me here?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

   "Of course, to show you how wonderful the beach can be."

    "Well, are you planning on getting something out of this?" I asked.

   "Well, yeah. I was hoping you'd give me your number."

.  .  .  .  .

Hospitals are the same no matter where you go. Busy and sterile. Like a porcelain beehive. And the hospital that I intern at is no different. The second I step through the glass front doors it's like walking into a different world. There are monitors beeping and people being pulled around on wheelchairs and gurneys and shouting and nurses at their stations making phone calls and paging doctors. It all made my head throb. The noise drilling into my head, boring a hole into my brain. I need coffee. 

    I head over to the waiting room where I find half a pot of coffee left in the coffee maker. I go over to it and pour some of the lukewarm liquid into a paper cup. It's cheap and tastes like dirt. 

    "Patroclus," I hear a voice call behind me. I quietly let out a miserable sigh, turning to see Briseis walking towards me with a fake smile plastered on her face. "How are you?" 

    "Ummm." She links her arm through mine and begins to drag me down the hall. 

    "I only ask because I haven't seen you all day." I can hear the irritated undertones in her voice. I don't say anything. She stops when we reach a supply closet and shoves me inside. "Seriously, where the fuck have you been?"

    "Traffic," I supply, wearily.

    "Do you really expect me to believe you are three  _ hours _ late because you were stuck in traffic?" she demands. I look down at my feet. "This has got to stop, this is the third time this month and we're only two weeks into June. My God. And look at you, you look like shit."

    "Thanks," I say, half-heartedly, not really caring about the insult. She ignores me. What's new.

    "I can't let you go to work looking this shitty, they'll kick you out of the intern program."

    "Then what do you want me to do?" I ask, tiredly. 

    "Go home," Briseis says, running her fingers through her brown hair. "Just go, I'll cover for you. Again. But don't you dare think this conversation is over."

    "Thanks," I mumbled, stepping out of the supply closet. A nurse glares at us when Briseis appears behind me. We both ignore her and go our separate ways. Briseis probably off to do her rounds while I head towards the front door. 

    My head's still throbbing. The shitty coffee hasn't done anything for me. And somewhere in the hospital there's a person shrieking.  _ Can someone shut that person up?  _ I think miserably as my brain begins to pulse. I just want to get out of here. 

    "Patroclus," a high voice calls from behind me.

    "What now?" I moan and turn to see a familiar nurse standing behind me. 

     "Ooh, you don't look so good," she observes. "Are you sick?"

    "Without question," I tell her, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

    "I'm so sorry. I just came over to say hello, I didn't realize. Do you think it's the flu?"

    "Probably."

    "Well, you shouldn't be here, you should be at home resting."

    "You think?"

    "Of course. Be sure to drink plenty of fluids, and feel better, hon."

    "Okay," I tell her and turn to leave. But to be honest, I don't start feeling better again until I'm sitting in my car, safe from the noise and the harsh sunlight. But even then I still feel like shit. There's a weight on my chest that just sits there, heavy, making it hard to breath. I let out a bitter laugh. The flu. Maybe that would explain the chronic migraines I had been having for the last four years. Or my complete emotional instability; I can go from being a hollow shell one minute to a bawling mess the next with no warning. That nurse doesn't know how sick I really am. The flu. If only. One can cure the flu. The only thing that can cure me would  be a time machine. But even then, that wouldn't fix cowardice.

    I speed home, wanting to be rid of the world outside my apartment. I don't even bother to lock the front door when I get home. I just go immediately through the apartment and draw all of the curtains close, making the apartment dark and gloomy. Just the way I like it. I go to my bed and pulled off the comforter, wrapping myself in it and then I fall down on the couch. I flip through channels on the TV, not really watching anything. I  just let images flash before my eyes, while my mind wanders elsewhere. Hours may have gone by and I wouldn't have known.

_ "Don't move from that spot,"  _ a voice from the TV calls, snapping me back to reality. " _ Because up next we're going to spin your head with  _ Evil Dead II _."  _

.  .  .  .  .

    "So, he gave you his number?" Briseis asked with a huge grin stretched out on her face. I gave her a quick nod, unable to stop the smirk that was tugging at my lips. "Ah, good for you, you big slut!" she squealed, playfully shoving my shoulder. "So, when are you gonna call him back?"

     "Umm, never," I answered. Briseis lifted an eyebrow, giving me that condescending look that always forced me to explain myself. "Well, come on. I can't just call him back."

     "Look, I realize that I've been out of the dating game for awhile, but I do remember that when a hot guy gives you his number, he wants you to call him," Briseis said. I let out a groan and let my face fall onto her pillow.

     "I hate this," I moaned. 

     "What are you talking about, you said your date went really well last night."

     "It did," I said, sitting up, "which is why this is so horrible. I could barely keep cool yesterday. This time I'll screw it up, I know it." Briseis slide her arm around my shoulder, giving me a comforting squeeze.

     "Oh, my precious screw up, just call him. What do you to lose?"

     "My dignity, my pride, and whatever self-esteem I have left."

    "Oh, my God, stop. How about this, I'll dial, you answer," Briseis suggested, already reaching for her nightstand where my phone was charging. She unplugged the phone and began to go through my contact information until she came across a number titled Straight Athletic Asshole. "I assume this is him," Briseis said, deadpanned. 

    I felt my cheeks start to redden. She clicked the number and it started to ring. Briseis squealed and handed the phone to me. I hesitantly held it up to my ear, feeling my stomach knot at each buzz the phone made. 

     "Hello," came a low voice from the other end of the phone. I panicked at the sound and slammed my phone shut. 

      "What the fuck was that?" Briseis asked.

     "I can't do this," I told her as a wave of nausea flooded into me. 

     "You can," Briseis told me seriously. "And you will. I'm calling him again." Before I could tell her not to, my phone ringing.

     "Briseis," I whispered to her. She covered the receiver with her hand.

     "He answered," she hissed, handing me my phone. I took it and brought it up to my ear, but not before giving Briseis a good glare.

     "Helloooo," the voice on the other end was saying.

     "Oh, hi," I squeaked out.

     "Hey, Patroclus, how are you?" Achilles asked. I was taken aback.

     "How'd you know it was me?" I asked.

    "Caller ID, I have your number, remember?" Achilles asked. "It's also how I know that you just called and hung up on me, like, two seconds ago." My eyes widened.

      "I did not do that...I didn't...I..." I stuttered.

     "Sure, if you say so."

     "I didn't. I, um, I am calling now though." I winced. That sounded so stupid. "I'm calling now, because I want to know if you want to hang out sometime."

    "Sometime?" Achilles teased.

      "How about Friday?" I choked out.

     "Tomorrow? Oh, man, I've got plans with some friends." My shoulders sagged.

      "Oh, that's fine," I started.

      "But hey, I'll just cancel. Tell them something more important came up," Achilles said. I felt myself blush, as an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

      "Okay," I almost giggled. 

      "Okay," Achilles said. "We could meet in front of the movie theater at about eight. They're showing _ Evil Dead II  _ if that's something you're interested in."

      "Yes," I said, too quickly. "I mean, that sounds awesome. I guess I'll see you at eight."

      "Can't wait," Achilles said. When I hung up my phone I had a dopey grin on my face and a fluttery feeling in my stomach.

      "Awwww," Briseis teased for the other end of her bed. I had forgotten she was there.

     "Stop," I said, unable to hide my smile. 

     "But you look so cute. Red's a nice color on your cheeks," she teased. 

    "Stooooop," I laughed, tossing a pillow at her. She giggled and tossed it back.

    I glanced at my watch. 8:06. Was it too early to start panicking? Of course I had been waiting outside the movie theater since around 7:30, so maybe not. I had already made it through a bag and a half of popcorn and my nerves still weren't settled. I leaned back against the wall of the theater and unconsciously began to jiggle my leg. I let out a sigh and did a quick sweep of the area around me until my eyes stopped on a golden giant jogging towards me. My breath caught. Achilles saw me and waved, his perfect red lips twisted into a heart-melting smile that turned my knees to jelly. 

      "I'm not late am I?" Achilles asked when he reached me, brushing his tangled blonde hair behind his ears. 

      "What, no," I said, shrugging it off.

     "Good. I mean, I would have been here much earlier but I had to stop by and grab something."

     "What?" I asked, shoving a handful of popcorn into my mouth

      "My favorite movie snack food, of course. Well, my favorite anything snack food, to be honest," Achilles admitted reaching into a backpack slung over his shoulder to pull out a bag of figs. I lifted an eyebrow.

    "Figs?"

    "Don't judge," Achilles said. 

    "Hey," I said, lifting my hands into the air. "No judgment here." Achilles gave me a skeptic look.

    "Good," he said after a moment, "try one."

    "Pass."

    "Oh, come on. They're sweet and delicious. Kind of like you," Achilles said with a wink.

     "Yeah, well this popcorn is kind of like you," I observed.

     "You mean, yummy and butter smooth?" Achilles asked.

     "No, white and corny," I said, tossing a small handful at him.

     "You mean white and horny," Achilles said with a laugh. My eyebrows shot up and I could feel my face begin heat up. 

     "Oh my god, what?" I asked. Because, did I just hear this boy right?

      "Nothing," Achilles smiled, "you've got it. White and corny, that's me. Blame it on all the times my mother made me watch  _ Day's of Our Lives  _ when I was sick."

      "Okay," I said, awkwardly. "Should we, like, go in now?"

     "Yeah, good idea. There are way too many bugs out here," Achilles said, swatting away a fly.

     Inside, the movie theater was cool, almost to the point of being cold. Achilles and I sat side by side in the back row of the practically empty theater laughing and goofing until the movie came on.

    Though, I wasn't really watching the movie. I was watching Achilles. I leaned back in my seat, memorizing every angle of his smooth face. He truly was remarkable. And it wasn't just the fact that he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. It was the spark that flickered in his green eyes, and the way his dimples would deepen every time he smiled and let out a laugh so pure you would swear it came straight from heaven. Every now and then Achilles would lean in and whisper something into my ear, and his warm breath would cause a shiver to go through my spine. 

    Achilles pressed his knee against mine and I thought I might die right then and there. I looked away, praying to every god I could think of that Achilles didn't notice the slack jawed look his touch was giving me. When I turned back, Achilles' fiery green eyes were on me. I felt my breath stop. Achilles turned his head away and looked down at his lap, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.  _ Is he blushing? _ I thought, my chest starting to pound. No, he couldn't be. It had to be a reflection from the red on the screen. 

      Achilles' eyes flickered back to me, and this time there was something in them. It made my heart beat faster and faster. Achilles chewed on his lower lip, as a strand of his blonde hair untucked itself from behind his ear and fell into his face. Instinctively, I reached out to brush the soft strand away. I was an inch from Achilles' face, and I could smell the sweet, sugary scent of figs on his breath. I swallowed hard. The only thing I wanted to do was collapse into the boy in front of me, to taste his soft lips on mine. But while I was staring at Achilles, fantasizing, I forgot to make a move. It was Achilles who leaned forward, taking my face between his hands, and pressed our lips together. He moved slowly at first, tasting every part of my mouth with his lips and tongue. I was almost too stunned to react properly. I was only jolted back into reality by the soft feeling of Achilles tongue slipping into my mouth. I moved my hand to the back of Achilles' neck, lacing my fingers through his hair, moaning into his mouth as I kissed him deeply, breathlessly. He tasted like figs and salt. It didn't feel real. It was as if I was dreaming, and when Achilles pulled back, I still felt dazed. 

      "Are we turning into one of those awkward couples who make-out in movie theaters?" Achilles asked, breathlessly.

     "Do you want to stop?" I asked.

     "You're kidding, right?"

.  .  .  .  .

    I must have dozed off because the next thing I know I'm abruptly waking up to Briseis slamming the door shut.

    "Get the fuck up," she yells at me. I blurrily look around, rubbing a little bit of drool off of the corner of my mouth. "What kind of cave have you built for yourself?" she asks as she throws the curtains open letting in the unwanted sun. "You're like a fucking vampire."

    "How was work?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.

   "Don't ask me how work was, while you've been sitting on your ass all day," she hollers. "Oh, my God," she exclaims as she walks into the kitchen. "Would it have killed you to clean up after yourself a little bit. This place is turning into a rat's nest." She begins slamming things around the kitchen, angrily cleaning. 

     "Sorry," I mutter. I'm not awake enough for this.

    "No you're fucking not," she snaps. "Christ! You never talk to me anymore. It's like I don't even know you. All you do is mope around, and then you keep not showing up to work. Are you trying to fail Med. School?"

     "You know I'm not," I tell her wearily. 

     "Do I? Because I remember a time when all you did was study and work. I had to force you to stop. But now it's like nothing matters to you. And I mean, at first I got it. But fuck, Patroclus, it's been eight months it's time you move on." My face grows serious. 

    "Stop," he warn her. 

    "No, you act like you're dead and-"

    "I am dead! Don't you see that! Nothing here matters anymore," I yell with a sudden burst of anger. Briseis looks at me with a pained and angry expression in her eyes.

    "So, I don't matter then," Briseis says. I begin to rub my temple.

    "Please, I can't have this conversation right now," I say.

    "Then when? When, in your busy schedule of self-pity and misery, can you fit me in?"

    I moan, searching the coffee table in vain for my car keys. I give up after a minute of not finding them and grab a hoodie of of the back of chair and head out.

   "Where are you going," Briseis calls after me. I leave without answering. The hallways outside of my apartment are narrow. I pull my hood up. I have to get out of here, I can feel the walls closing in. 

     Outside I push through the crowd of people on the street. Some of them might have said something to me, but I wasn't listening. I come to a tavern that I have never seen before, which happens to be a real hole in the ground. Literally. I have to descend a few steps in order to get inside. It has a homey feel inside, everything is made out of shiny light brown wood. There's a lingering smell of vomit and beer, but the place looks clean enough so I slide onto a stool at the counter.

    "Give me something that will get me drunk. Fast," I tell the bartender. He reaches under the counter and pulls up a large bottle of a brown liquid and pours a glass. 

     "This ought to do it," the bartender says. I accept the glass. 

     "What is it?"

.  .  .  .  .

    "Whiskey?" I asked, eyeing the brown liquid suspiciously. 

    "Yeah," Achilles said, letting his feet dangle from the edge of his childhood treehouse. "I borrowed it from my mom's liquor cabinet."

     "Burrowed?" I teased, arching a single eyebrow. 

    "Fine, I took it with no intent to give it back," Achilles said, lifted his arms into the air. "But either I'm drinking it or she is, and to be honest, the last thing that that woman needs is more alcohol."

     "I know what you mean," I said, "my dad likes to drink, too."

     "Great, so we both had shitty childhoods," Achilles pointed out, pouring the whiskey into two glass cups. He handed one to me and held the other one up in front of him. "But here's to a happy future."

    "I'll drink to that," I said, tapping my glass against Achilles'. I took a sip of my whiskey and the liquid burned going down my throat. I let out a violent cough.

    "Are you okay?" Achilles asked, concern etching in his brow. I nodded, and crawled over to sit beside him at the edge of the treehouse. We sat in silence, occasionally sipping our whiskey, looking out into the woods at the birds nesting in the trees, listening to the crickets chirp, completely content with the quiet.

     "Tell me a secret," I said, breaking the silence.

    "A secret?" Achilles asked, "huh." He took a long sip of whiskey, considering this. "I like music," he finally said after a while.

    "Come on, I already that," I said. I had only seen Achilles play gigs at cafés like a million times already.

    "No, but I mean, I really love it. My parents never agree on anything, except what I'm supposed to be one day. They want me to be a diplomat, like my dad. Going to foreign countries and war zones to set up negotiations, but I've always dreamed about being a musician," Achilles admitted.

     "Then why don't you?" I asked.

    "Because I don't want the fame that goes with it. I mean, I do want the fame, but not the drama it takes to be a celebrity. When you get big, your music loses soul, and I don't want that," Achilles said.

    "So, um, does this mean you're going to do what your parents want?" I asked. Achilles shrugged.

    "One day, I guess. But I have time. I can still do what my parents want and play," Achilles said. "Now what about you?" he asked, nudging me with his leg.

    "What do you mean?"

   "What do you like?" Achilles asked.

   "I don't know."

    "Come on," Achilles insisted. I wracked my brain, but came up short. 

    "I really don't know. I mean, I like books."

    "Books?"

    "Yeah, stories are great. I also like medicine and helping people," I tried.

   "Oh, come on. But what do you  _ really _ like? What puts a fire in your belly? What are you the most passionate about?" Achilles urged. I began to fluster, trying to think.

    "You," I said before I could stop myself. Achilles fell silent. "I like you," I said. "I mean, I... love you." I looked up into Achilles' bright green eyes and felt my stomach twist. I swallowed hard, waiting for Achilles' reaction. It felt like a million years had past before Achilles leaned forward, abandoning his whiskey glass, and took my chin in between his fingers, pulling me into a long, slow passionate kiss. I quivered under Achilles' touch, tasting the whiskey on his tongue as it slide into my mouth. I reached my hand up and caressed Achilles' smooth cheek and the boy pressed his face into the touch, kissing me harder. 

     "I love you, too," he whispered, before I pulled him back into the kiss. 

.  .  .  .  .

"Hey, hey buddy get up." I feel someone shaking my arm. I open my eyes to a bright day. It feels like someone has just hit me in the head with a hammer. I bring my hands up to my temple as if getting ready to hold my brain in place in case it decided to pulse any harder and explode. There's a pungent odor that makes me want to gag. God, what is that? I look around too tired to be disgusted, and see that I'm lying in an alley on top of a pile of trash bags and a pool of my own vomit. I swallow the bile I feel build up in my mouth.What happened last night? I remember fighting with Briseis and then going to that bar, but after that, nothing. I haven't been this drunk in a while. I look up to at the vaguely familiar face that is peering down at me. It takes me a minute to place this guy as the bartender from last night. 

    "What time is it?" I finally asked hoarsely. I would never be able to sound this gruff if I was trying.

    "Umm, two o'clock."

   "In the morning?"

   "No, um, in the afternoon."

    "Shit." Briseis was going to kill me. 

    "I'm sorry, if I'd known you were here... I just was about to open the bar and I saw you," the bartender tries to explain.

    "Shhh," I shushed, sitting up, rubbing my head. The bartender clicks his tongue.

    "You need some coffee," he observers. He reaches down and grabs my arm, pulling me to my feet. 

   "Whoa," I say, feeling light headed. The world begins to spin a little. I wrap an arm around the bar tender's shoulder to steady myself. 

    "Come on," the bartender tells me, leading me out into the streets.

    The street is modestly busy since everyone is at work. Or everyone who hadn't gotten blackout drunk the night before, that is. The bartender takes me to a cafè at the end of the block. It's a quaint place, smelling like coffee and baked goods. It makes my stomach turn. We're the only people in the shop, save for the girl behind the counter. The bartender seems right at home in this café, suggesting he was probably a regular. 

    "Hello," he greets the barista, "can I have a small french vanilla coffee with two creams?" The bartender turns to me, lifting an eyebrow to ask what he want. 

    "Black," I mummer, rubbing my hands over my face. I need a bath. 

    "And a large black coffee for my friend, please."

    "That'll be $5.37," the barista says, holding out her hand. The bartender reaches into his pocket and pulls out some crumpled bills to give to the girl. 

    "Keep the change."

   The bar tender leads me over to a booth next to a large window that overlooks the street. I sit down across from the bar tender and look down at the sticky table top, sort of lost in thought.

    "So, rough night?" the bartender asks, obviously uncomfortable by the silence that was beginning to settle. 

    "You tell me, you were the one pouring the drinks," I pointed out, not cruelly, just stating a fact. 

    "Right," the bartender says, and the silence descends between us again. I turn my attention to the world outside of the window. I spot a young couple entangled in each other's arms, window shopping. Crossing the street there's a smiling father with his giggling daughter sitting on his shoulders and a young son holding his hand. I notice a woman in a suit throwing out the rest of her hurried lunch in order to quickly get back to work. All these people out there with lives and places to be, and here I am, sitting in a coffee shop with a young bartender who was doing his best to ignore the smell radiating off of this hopeless cause he found passed out in an alleyway. This is what my life is now. 

    "Luke," the barista calls from the counter. The bartender, apparently named Luke, perks his ears up hearing his name and goes over to the barista who was holding out two cups of coffee. I don't bother turning my attention from the window until Luke sits down again and hands me my coffee. 

    "Thanks," I mutter, accepting the coffee. I look at Luke. He's young. Probably still in college. He isn't unattractive, he has these piercing blue eyes that would have been mesmerizing if there wasn't so much pity in them. 

    "So," Luke says after taking a tiny sip of his coffee. "Who's Achilles?"

    "What?" I ask, nearly spitting out the steaming coffee from mouth. Where did he hear that name?

    "Oh, um, it's just last night you kept mentioning this guy; Achilles," Luke tries to explain, the tips of his ears reddening a bit. 

   "He's no one," I answer quickly, looking down into my coffee. The liquid is dark brown and burning. There's a little puff of smoke curling up from the center. I focus on it, trying to let all other thoughts cease. 

    "Well, I'm almost a psychology major, so if you want to talk, you can," Luke begins.

    "I don't," I snap more harshly than I mean to. I know I should be angry, the way I always am when Achilles gets brought up. I should yell at this  _ child _ for not minding his own business. What did a barely legal college student know? But there's something so simple and innocent in Luke, that I don't see the point in getting mad. "He was just someone I knew a long time ago," I whisper. 

     "Oh," Luke says, sipping his coffee. We sit in silence for a minute or two before Luke gets up to leave. "I have to open the bar now. Take care."

   "You too," I say automatically, more from habit than from actually caring. That makes me want hate myself a little more. How low I have sunk. Luke was kind to me and seems to be a good person, yet I feel nothing towards him. Not even gratitude. I should hate myself for that. But I don't. I feel nothing. I watch him leave. My head is still pounding, but the coffee is helping. A bit.

    I turn to stare at the spot Luke just left. The plastic cover of the booth seat is green. Most people would consider it an ugly green but it matches the cherry floor well. Green and brown seem to be the color scheme of this café. But it's not just any shade of green. It's avocado. 

.  .  .  .  .

    "I'm not so sure about painting our walls avocado," I admitted.

    "You picked it out," Achilles pointed out.

     "Yeah, but it looked better in the store," I whined. 

     "And it'll look good on the walls, too." I glanced around at our new apartment. Completely bare and white, except for the plastic that was spread out all over the floor. 

     "Are you sure that this apartment isn't too small," I asked. Achilles let out a good natured groan.

     "Nooo, babe, it's perfect."

     "Yeah, but I feel like we're going to be on top of each other all of the time."

     "You say that like it's a bad thing," Achilles said with a smirk. I rolled my eyes, blushing a bit. After three years of dating, it wasn't fair he could still me me blush like that. 

     "I still regret the avocado," I said, dipping my paintbrush into the can of paint. 

     "Aww, Pattycake," Achilles teased.

    "Oh, my God, don't call me that. There you see, it looks horrible on the wall, I knew it," I said, glaring at the paint stroke, dripping green down the blindingly white wall.

    "You're right," Achilles agreed. "It looks horrible on the wall, but do you know what it would look good on?"

     "Huh?" I asked, not really paying Achilles any mind.

    "You!" he screamed, flinging his paintbrush at me. I jumped as the green paint splashed onto my grungy T-shirt and face. I turned to Achilles with a dangerous look in my eyes.

    "Oh, it's on," I threatened, flinging my own paint brush at Achilles' smug face. Dark green splattered across him like blood. Achilles let out a laugh and dunked his paintbrush back into the paint and rubbed the brush up and down my body while I was painting Achilles' golden hair. 

     "Stooop," I giggled, as paint came flying at my back. Achilles dipped both of his hands into the paint, clasping my face between them before pulling me into a sloppy kiss. I shivered as the cold paint dripped down my neck, then stuck my own hand into the paint and flicked some at Achilles' nose. We both laughed, running around our small apartment, flinging paint at each other, onto the walls, pressing our hands onto the white hallway, and finger painting our names and stupid images in dark green all over our apartment. We laughed until we couldn't stand anymore, then we collapsed our dripping green bodies onto the living room floor, looking up at the ceiling, panting and giggling. 

     "Pattycake, you were wrong, this place looks great," Achilles pointed out. 

     "You are absolutely right, I especially look how our bedroom says Achilles Rules! in three different languages," I said. Achilles chuckled. 

    "Yeah, well I like how you drew stick figures of the entire cast of  _ Game of Thrones  _ in the hallway."

    "But what really holds the place together is your butt-print on the front door."

    "I'm going to have paint in my ass for days," Achilles snickered, "but, it's totally worth it." I laughed until I couldn't breathe and then rolled over to pull Achilles into a kiss.

    "Are we going to have to repaint the entire apartment again?"  Achilles groaned, pulling back from the kiss.

    "Naw, it looks fine," I said, sitting up. "I'm gonna go take a bath. Care to join me?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

.  .  .  .  .

     The water in the bathtub that was once steaming hot is now lukewarm. How long have I been lying here? I don't know, and I don't care. I'm staring down at my pruney body, taking note that every time I take in a deep breath my stomach rises just above the water looking like a barren island on a murky sea. I roll my head back and turn my gaze to the ceiling. There's a crack that needs to be fixed. Also, the ceiling could use a couple of coats of paint. So much to do. But all the tasks seem so pointless. Earth will still rotate regardless of my ceiling being chipped and streaked gray. So many of the little details people concern themselves with don't even matter. 

     I let my head slip beneath the water. All of a sudden, sound stops. There's no more car horns or rustling in the apartment next door. It's quiet. Peaceful. Underwater, the world looks different. The shapes are blurry and unclear. It's like I'm a god looking through a portal at the meager world below. I'm like a different person looking at myself through another's eyes. _ Oh, look at Patroclus and his miserable little life. How these mortals make sooo many mistakes. Pathetic really.  _ I begin to feel my lungs burn, but I don't dare move. How easy it is to see your life like a character in a book. To experience their hardship, yet are able to retreat when the chapter ends to your much better life. Maybe life would be better if I just stay underwater and forever hold the world off at a distance. My chest twists and my throat begins to close. No, wait. I'm  not ready to go back to the world. I want to spend forever in this watery tomb where it's safe. Five more minutes. Two more minutes. The real world is scary. I just want to forever be underwater where I can mock my life instead of live it, I don't want-

    I come up, gulping for air, spewing and choking. I lift one leg out of the tub and roll onto the tile floor coughing and spitting out all of the water that was left in my lungs. I stay, on my hands and knees, dripping wet and shaking. It was one of those times when you cry but no tears come, so your left naked on the floor shuddering. This is what it has come to. Fingertips always resting on death's door, but too afraid to go in. No, not afraid. I'm not afraid to die. It would be a welcoming relief to the constant pain I'm in. But I don't deserve something so good. I need to live. It is my punishment. To live for the rest of my life with regret and my own cowardice. I made my bed, and this is me sleeping in it. 

     I reach up, wrapping my hand around a fluffy pink towel that's hanging on a hook. I pull it down to me as I stand up. I wrap the towel around my waist and walk over to the mirror. The surface is clouded with condensation. I lift up a hand and wipe the moisture away. The first thing reflected in the mirror is my thin brown chest, as I wipe more of the moisture away my face shows up in the mirror. First, my mouth which is permanently twisted into a frown and surrounded by stubble, then my nose and my wide brown eyes which are set above dark bags, then my forehead where my wet brown curls are sticking. I stare into the mirror at myself and the sight makes me want to puke. What a coward. A liar. A fucking miserable loser.

    "Are you happy?" I say to myself, bitterly. "Are you proud of what you've done?" I continue to stare at myself. Glowering at the wretched face looking back. I have never seen something I've hated so much. I wipe away the rest of the condensation from the mirror. I see my arm in the glossy surface. I look down at my bicep to see a golden circle tattooed on its brown surface. The contrast is extraordinary. On such a dark surface there is a bright, golden shield. 

.  .  .  .  .

     I was sitting on my couch in the middle of my living room, balancing what felt like a one hundred pound textbook on one knee and a notebook on the other. In the background I could hear Achilles stirring pasta and singing along to "Hurt" by Johnny Cash as it played over the radio.

    "Hey, babe, could you turn that down, I'm trying to study," I called out. I could hear Achilles gasp from the other room.

    "Turn it down? But it's Johnny, my man, my idol," Achilles protested.

    "Yeah, but this song it completely depressing, and I can't focus with it on," I said. Achilles turned off the radio and came into the living room to flop down on the couch next to me.

    "You study too much, Pattycake," he whined, pressing his face into my shoulder. 

     "That's because Med. School requires lots of studying," I pointed out, patting his hair with my free hand. 

    "But it's the weekend," Achilles cried. I ignored him and went back to trying to read about heart valves. Achilles sighed and leaned back against the arm of the couch. 

     "Cuddle with me," he said. I looked at Achilles' pouting face and smiled. 

    "Why?" I laughed. 

    "Because your book is stealing all your attention away from me, and I won't have it," Achilles declared. I chuckled and crawled in between his legs, leaning my back against his strong, muscled chest.

     "Read to me," Achilles murmured into my hair. His breath caused my heart rate to speed up.

    "It's really boring, I promise."

    "I don't care, I want to hear your voice."

    "Okay," I said clearing my throat. "A heart attack is the result of coronary artery disease due to atherosclerosis..." As I read, Achilles rolled up my T-shirt sleeve, grabbed my pen, and began to doodle on my arm. "...the most effective method to stop the blockage is... hey, what are doing?"

    "I'm drawing on you," Achilles said, sticking his tongue out in concentration. The pen glided over my skin smoothly while Achilles drew.

   "I can see that, but what are drawing, babe?" I asked. Achilles ignored me until he finished his masterpiece, at which time he capped the pen and smiled triumphantly.

    "It's me," he said. I frowned looking at my bicep. 

    "You're a circle with a smaller circle inside?" I asked, confused. 

    "No, babe, it's a metaphor. You've always said that you wanted a tattoo, and I'm testing ideas. It's a shield. Like me. I'll always protect you, and I'll always be a _ round _ ," Achilles said, tracing his index finger around the circle. His touch sent a shiver up my spin. 

    "I want to do one for you," I said, abandoning my books. I turned around, straddling Achilles between my legs, and rolled up his shirt sleeve to expose perfect, gold skin. I uncapped the pen and began to draw to the best of my abilities. 

     "There," I said when I was done. "It's me."

    "You're a helmet?" Achilles asked, trying- and failing- to suppress a smile.

    "No, babe, it's a metaphor," I teased. "When you think too much with your heart, I'm your logic. You tell me you thoughts and secrets, and I keep them from spilling out, like a helmet."

    "I love it," Achilles said, smiling down at the pitiful drawing. "Let's make them permanent."

    "You mean, get these tattooed?"

    "Yeah, why not?"

     I shrugged. "Why not?"

 

    We found ourselves downtown in search of a tattoo parlor. We hadn't been searching long before we found one.

   "Let's do it here," Achilles said excitedly. I was a bit more conscience. 

    "I don't know," I said, hesitantly.

    "Why?" Achilles asked.

    "Well, don't you think we should research a facility before going in. To make sure they clean their needles and what not. I want a tattoo, not Hepatitis," I said.

    "Where is your sense of adventure?" Achilles asked, dragging me in. The tattoo shop was covered in aesthetic posters of drawings that were probably done by the artists that worked there. I looked around impressed. 

     "Can I help you two," a man asked. He had a long beard and was covered in tattoos. Kind of hot, but not as hot as my boyfriend.

    "Yes," Achilles said. "My boyfriend and I are looking to get some tattoos."

   "Alright," the guy said. "Well, normally you'd have to make an appointment, but it's pretty slow tonight, so I'll see what I can do." He led us to the back of the shop where there were a pair of chairs set up. Achilles and I took a seat next to each other.

     "So, what do you guys have in mind?" the tattoo artist asked.

     "Oh, we've already got them drawn," Achilles said, and he and I rolled up our sleeves.

    "Oh, dear lord," the artist shrieked when he saw them. "Um, is this literally what you want or do you want, like, a better version?"

     "Literally," Achilles said as I said, "Better version."

    "Look guys, I'm sure whichever five-year-old drew these would forgive you for getting a less sloppy copy," the artist said. Achilles and I exchanged a look.

    "Well this five-year-old happens to be particularly relentless," I informed, eyeing Achilles who answered me with a glare. 

    "I can try keeping it close, just fix them up a bit," the tattoo artist suggested.

    "Yeah, do that," Achilles said. He reached out and held my hand as the artist began to prep me for my tattoo. 

.  .  .  .  .

     Hot anger begins to build up inside of my chest as I glower down at the shield I carry on my arm. Angry tears prick my eyes. 

     "A shield, how stupid," I yell. I reach up my right hand and begin to desperately claw at the tattoo as if I can just tear it off. "Always be around. What a lie." My body is numb, I don't feel a thing. I barely notice the blood that begins to trickle down my arm. I sweep my arm across the sink like a hurricane, knocking over all the lotions and perfume bottles. I grab a bottle of powder and throw it against the wall and toss a bottle of lotion that splashes into the tub. "Get off of me!" I yell at the tattoo, pulling at my flesh, backing into the bathroom wall. I slide down the wall when I feel it against my back and fall back onto the floor. I bury my face into my knees, letting the storm clouds brew above my head, and sob. 

     When you reach that empty pit inside of yourself, that darkness so deep there's no escape left; that's despair. It's like a virus that eats its way out from inside of you, leaving behind an empty carcass. You become a walking corpse, the only thing left inside of you is regret. You become Frankenstein's monster, stitched up with sorrow and remorse. Too afraid to look at yourself in the mirror. Too afraid to live and face the things you've done. It's a hole that never fills, not with drinking or drugs or sex. Not with anything.  _ But I deserve this,  _ I think bitterly.

     I need to get out. Out of my apartment. Out of town. Just be anywhere but where I am. I head over to my bedroom and grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt I find at the bottom of my dresser and pull them on, not even bothering to put on underwear. I brush my fingers through my hair once or twice and then begin to search my apartment for my car keys. I eventually find them on the coffee table under a  _ Times _ magazine. I leave my apartment, thankful that at least my headache is beginning to subside. When I pull open my screechy car door and climb inside of my station wagon I feel like I'd just crawled into an over. He flip the air conditioner on and wait for the refreshing burst of cool air. 

.  .  .  .  .

      A chilled breeze came sweeping through the street, nipping through my red knitted mittens causing me to shiver.

     "Burrr," I shuttered, rubbing my hands together. I lived in California, it really shouldn't be this cold. 

     "You okay?" Achilles asked, walking beside me, hands tucked into his pockets, down the sidewalk.

     "Yeah, it's just nippy out," I answered.

     "Here," Achilles responded, stopping to sandwich my hands between his own. "Is this better?" he asked, blowing his warm breathe on my hands to warm them up.

     "Not really," I admitted, looking at him through my eyelashes. "But don't you dare stop." Achilles' lips curled into a tiny smile that caused my head to spin.

     "Disgusting," a woman muttered walking by us. I immediately pulled my hands back, shoving them into my jacket pocket. I turned my head down and started to walk away.

    "Hey, forget her," Achilles called after me. He jogged over to me, slinging his arm around my shoulders. "I bet she's just jealous because we're two handsome studs and she's probably married to some balding, fat guy."

     "Yeah," I said, casting my eyes down to the white washed sidewalk.

     "No, seriously," Achilles said, stopping. He turned me around, tilting my chin up so that I was looking into his searching eyes. "I love you, and I don't care who knows it." I felt a stir in my stomach as Achilles leaned down to kiss me. I felt my body explode with warmth and light. Suddenly, it didn't feel so nippy out.

.  .  .  .  .

     I drive, letting the city and then the suburbs melt behind me until I'm surrounded by nothing but country. Or at least as country as you can get on the highway. All the while convincing myself that I'm not running from my problems, just taking a well deserved break from them for a little bit. And, as I drive with the window rolled down, letting the wind blow into my face, for minute I do forget them. It's just me and the grey road that's running beneath me. The motion of the car soothes me the way a mother's rocking soothes an infant. I let time and worry slip by me. 

     After what feels like an eternity of bliss, reality begins to tug at my brain. It's dark outside, but I remember it still be light when I left. I glance at the glowing green numbers on my car's clock. 9:05. I estimate it will probably take me two hours to get home. It would be best if I turn around now. 

    I keep driving, though, until I spot a 7/11. I pull up next to an ancient gas pump and get out of my car to fill my tank up three quarters, then I head inside the store to pay. The line at the register seems unnaturally long and slow moving. I didn't notice how many cars were parked outside. I stand at the back of the line waiting for it to move up, but am not particularly discouraged to find that it isn't going anywhere. I let my eyes wander the store aisles, combing over all of the snack food and cheap alcohol. I go over to a shelf and consider buying a candy bar. I look at a Milky Way and a Kit Kat, but can't decide between the two, so I end just picking up a coke. 

     "$23.47, including the gas," the young boy at the register says. I reach into my back pocket for my wallet, tucking the coke under my armpit.

    "Here you go," I tell the boy handing him the money. The boy takes it, giving me a flirtatious smile. 

   "Come again," he says. I smile back, not because the boy was attractive-though he really is- but because I was that boy once. Back in high school, bored and working at a convenient store with the only benefit being the cute customers that came in. But though I'm smiling, in my head I'm telling the boy,  _ Stop, you can do so much better than me.  _

     I know that I should head home straight away, but I don't. I pull my car over in a quiet spot that is safe from the glow and buzz of industrialization and lay on the hood of my car, my coke in my hand, staring up into the stars. You never feel smaller than you do when you compare yourself to the enormity of the universe. Here I am, just a man of twenty-five years, looking up at sky that had been there since time was created. I wonder, in this moment, how many other people at staring up at the same sky as me. I imagine a teenage girl, in love for the first time, gazing star struck into the night, thinking that her lover's eye shine brighter than any star in the sky. Then I think of an astronomer gazing through a telescope with his young son, showing him all of the constellations, making the boy's eyes widen when he learns just how far away each star is. But then I picture some other poor soul whose life is infinitely worse than mine, gazing up at the stars miserably, wondering why the fates have to be so cruel. What if Briseis is looking at the stars? Her brow scrunched up, worrying where I am, but secretly a little bit glad to be rid of me so that she can have a moment to herself without my gloom hanging over her.

     The thing about looking into the stars is that they can be so mesmerizing that you forget about things like time and how you should've been home by now. But thinking of Briseis reminds me that it's time to go home. Back to life. I finish drinking my coke and slide back into my car to get ready for my long drive home. 

    The highway is dark, the only thing I can see is the hazy yellow light of my headlights. Occasionally, a pair of glowing lights will zoom past me. It's hard to imagine that those lights are really cars. Or that inside the cars are people, all who have their own story. The world is so big. I've been living in my head so long that I have almost forgotten how big it really is. 

     I let out a loud yawn. All this driving and thinking about the universe is making me drowsy. I flick on my radio, tuning dials until I find a station that plays soothing music and not that mindless pop music that half of the country is into.

_  "This Sandra and you are listening to WCBK FM, up next for all of you late night drivers in Jason Mraz with "I Won't Give Up" have a wonder night," _ the radio says. I freeze as the beginning instrumentals begin to play. I turn and look at the radio as though it's a man holding up a gun.  _ Not this song _ , I think with a panic.

_     "When I look into your eyes, _

_    It's like watching the night skies, _

_    Or a beautiful sunrise, _

_    There's so much they hold." _

   I feel my breath quicken and my chest begin to tighten up. I thought I had escaped all of this, but here it is coming from my radio. But I can't turn it off. I listen to each note, each word, feeling a piece of me die as the song drags on. Tears begin to form in my eyes and soon even the glowing of my headlights seems blurry. 

_      "Well, I won't give up. On. Us." _

.  .  .  .  .

_     "Even if the skies. Get. Rough, _

_     I'm giving you alllllllll my love, _

_     I'm still looking up, _

_     I'm still looking up,"  _ Achilles sang, strumming his guitar. I was lying on our bed, mesmerized. "That's my song to you," he told me. "Because I'll always be here for you." I felt my chest fill up as I looked into Achilles' eyes; tender and whole. They were two perfect stars and in them, I could see the whole world. They hid nothing from me. 

     "I love you," I said.

    I reached my hand through Achilles' golden hair and pulled him in for a long passionate kiss. Our mouths moving desperately over each other as if we were each other's life support. My tongue tasting every part of Achilles' mouth and jaw. I bit and sucked at his lower lip, moaning his name. In seconds our clothes were off and I pressed our bodies together, skin on skin, feeling my body melt into Achilles' strong chest. I pushed Achilles underneath me, and stared into his face, radiating with desire. I could feel it. That feeling, build up inside of me. That twinkle of mindless passion. I didn't want to feel that a little bit, I wanted to feel it a lot. I wanted to indulge until the feeling consumed me. I wanted to feel more than just a tingle in my chest, I craved that pulse that ran throughout my whole body. I wanted to wrap myself in it, like a blanket of passion and ecstasy. I wanted to feel so hard it made me numb. Only then would I be satisfied. 

    I reached for a bottle of lube on the nightstand, knocking almost everything down as I grabbed it. I reached my fingers inside of it to scoop out the warm, wet grease. I pushed a finger slowly into Achilles' heat, causing him to tremble beneath me. 

    "Ohhh," he moaned, gripping my hips, biting his nails into me. I moved another finger in, feeling my whole body begin to drum. My lower half began to grow warm and I could feel myself getting hard. 

    "Oh, God."

    I bent down, catching Achilles' lips with my own. I could feel Achilles' throbbing cock press against my stomach. I moved another finger inside, running my tongue along the warm skin on Achilles' neck. My breath quickened until I was panting so fast I thought I might pass out. I moved my free hand down Achilles' muscled thigh, lifting his leg to rest on my shoulder.

    "Patroclus," Achilles cried, pulling at my hair. I pulled my hand out from inside of Achilles and pushed myself in. Achilles' muscles tightened around me as I moved, searching for his pleasure spot. 

    Our bodies rocked as one, our love fusing us together. We moved like an orchestra, starting slowly at first, then building faster and higher. I gasped, coming up for air only to be pulled back down into Achilles' embrace. My eyes rolled back as I moved in and out of Achilles' body. I climbed higher and higher in my orgasm and I thought he caught a glimpse of heaven. Achilles tightened around me as he came, causing me to scream out with pleasure. I let myself explode into Achilles, feeling myself begin to grow limp. 

   I collapsed beside him, and we lay next to each other panting breathlessly, feeling raw. Achilles rolled on his side, facing me.

    "I love you," he whispered, when he caught his breath. 

    "I love you, too," I told him, my insides turning to jelly. We lay entangled in each other's sweaty limbs, stroking each others' faces, speaking only with our eyes. I never wanted to forget this moment, I lay trying to memorize every part of it, every feeling. I wanted to trap it like fireflies in a jar, so I could save it and look at it again when it was dark so that it could brighten my very soul. 

    "Patroclus," Achilles said, breaking the silence. "If you could fulfill your greatest desire of fix your greatest regret, which would you choose?" I thought about this.

   "But what if they're the same thing?" I asked. Achilles' brow creased.

   "What do you mean?"

  "This is my greatest desire. I want nothing more than this for the rest of eternity," I told him. "Losing you would be my only regret in this life." Achilles' face changed. Going from soft to serious. He pulled me in and kissed me, crawling on top of me to pull himself closer. I began to feel the familiar ache of want in my lower abdomen and began to quiver, letting Achilles fill me this time. 

.  .  .  .  .

I burst into my apartment to find Briseis sitting on the couch flipping through a magazine. 

    "Oh, my gosh where have you been?" she asks, jumping up, when I come in. She has a worried look on her face. I don't answer her, I just grab her and pull her into a kiss. She lets out a surprised squeal, but then begins to kiss me back. I kiss her hard, lifting her up and carrying her into our bedroom. I lace my fingers through her brown curls imagining golden locks flowing through my fingers like sunlight. I tear off her clothes and she falls down naked onto our bed. I crawl on top of her, kissing her and touching her, picturing a hard, flat, golden body in place of her soft curves. My lips move over her mouth desperately, my head clouded with guilt and the desire to be touched. The need for the warmth of another person, to remind me that I'm completely alone. I urgently push myself inside of her, plowing hard and fast with no consideration for myself or for her. I move thinking about all of the promises that I've made, but never kept. About all the mistakes I've made and opportunities I was too afraid to go after. About Achilles. I can't finish, not that I even care or want to. I go limp inside of Briseis and collapse on top of her and begin to cry.

     "Oh, honey," Briseis coos, wrapping her arms around me, letting me cry into her chest. "That's it, let it out." She runs her fingers through my hair, and rubs her hands up and down my back. 

     "I'm so empty inside," I choke out, soaking her skin with tears and snot.

    "No, you're not empty. You're human," she says gently. I cry harder. She holds me and lets me cry into her until well into the night. 

     "I'm such a coward," I whisper to her.

    "No you're not, you're just suffering. And I'm so sorry I've been so mean to you lately, I shouldn't have said those things," she tells me honestly, looking into my eyes.  I roll off of her and wrap my arms around her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. We lay in each other's arms and just for a minute pretend it's only us in the world. Pretend that I love her just as much as I had loved, still love, Achilles. Though we both know that's impossible. I mean, I really do love her. She's my best friend. I've ruined everything in my life but she's still around. She is the only person I have left in the world.  I don't want to lose her. I already lost the thing I loved most in the world, and I wouldn't make that mistake twice. 

.  .  .  .  .

    I sat at my kitchen table with a book in my hand, trying to concentrate, but Achilles' voice in the other room made it hard to focus. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could tell that he was frustrated. For the past week he had been getting phone calls from his parents, and when the phone calls were over he would get tensed up and storm out of the house to go to the beach and only come back when he had cooled off. I watched this with worry weighing on my mind, but I let Achilles be, figuring that that was best. 

    Achilles came out from our bedroom with his face buried in his hands and let out a loud groan. I recognized Achilles' stance as one of defeat. When he let his hands drop, I could see something heavy and solemn in his face. Achilles silently sat down on one of the kitchen chairs adjacent to me.

    "We need to talk," he said in a low, serious voice.

   "Okay," I nodded, putting my book aside. Achilles let out a sigh.

   "That was my father on the phone," he informed. "He's being sent to Iraq to deal with some issues."

   "Oh, my God," I said, reaching out to touch Achilles' hand. There had been some news about how bad it was getting there. Total anarchy, being ruled by gangs and terrorists. "You must be so worried about him."

  "No, it's not that," Achilles said, shaking his head. He cast his eyes down, looking at anywhere but at me. "I'm going with him." I felt my stomach turn to ice. My pulse stopped.

  "What?"

  "He feels it's time that I learned from him. I've been studying political sciences at school, he thinks I'm ready," Achilles said.

   "Ready for what? To die?" I yell, pulling my hand back. 

   "Come on, don't be like that," Achilles said.

   "Like what?" I snapped.

  "Like this," Achilles answered, gesturing to me. I felt his head scramble.

  "How long?" I asked.

  "I don't know," Achilles said with a shrug. "A year or two." My jaw dropped. I jumped up.

  "A year or two!"

  "Well, it's not like I can fix it up overnight, you know how bad it is out there."

   "Yeah, I know how bad it is, which is why you can't go."

    "I have to."

   "Why!"

    "Because I'm supposed to," Achilles shouted. "I've been told this is what I've been destined to do for my whole life. I'm supposed to grow up and be just like my dad."

    "But you don't have to be," I said. "You can do whatever you want. You can be a musician, remember?" I felt fear's cold hand squeeze at my lungs and it made hot tears prick up in my eyes.

    "Patroclus, that was just a pipe dream. This is reality, this is what I have to do," Achilles tried.

    "But is it what you want to do?" I inquired.

    "Fuck," Achilles shouted, throwing his hands in the air, "I don't know what I want to do."

    "That's bull shit," I spat. Achilles' jaw twitched and he stood up. I tilted my chin up at him in defiance.

    "Listen to me," Achilles said in a low voice. "You are the only thing on this whole Earth that I have ever wanted, that I have ever cared about. But this is important." I rolled my eyes.

    "Yeah, okay, you care so much about me, that's why you're leaving me," I said.

    "No," Achilles said gently," it doesn't have to be that way. You can come with me."

    "And watch you die?" I cried, feeling a lump grow in the back of my throat.

    "It wouldn't be like that," Achilles pleaded. 

    "Well, what about school? Am I supposed to put everything on hold so that I can go to some war zone and watch you get killed?" I asked, tears freely running down my face.

    "Baby, none of that shit matters if we're together."

    "None of it matters? I have a life here _. We _ have a life here. We can't just leave because you want us to.

    "Then wait for me," Achilles begged. "It won't feel like I'm gone that long."

    "Wait for what, them to send you back in a body bag."

    "Stop with that," Achilles yelled. "I'm going to be fine."

    "You don't know that!" I yelled back. Through my blurred vision, I could see Achilles' chin quiver.

    "Please," he whispered, "I can't do this without you, Pattycake." I shook my head.

    "You're going to have to."

    "That's not fair," Achilles protested, tears running down his face.

    "And what is?" I hollered. "Me sitting around waiting for you to die because you want to be hero?"

    "How can you make me choose?" Achilles asked.

   "I won't," I said. "I'll make the choice for you." I grabbed my book off of the table and left.

.  .  .  .  .

     I lay in the darkness looking up at the ceiling. Beside me Briseis was breathing softly fast asleep. I don't deserve her. Anyone with eyes could see that. After that night with Achilles, I had come to her, crying like a baby, a complete mess. I had moved in with her and she had taken care of me. We only had each other in the world, and were best friends, so it only was natural that we ended up together. Though we both know I can never love her the way she desperately wants me to. She deserves better. 

    I glance over at her. She seems the most happy while she sleeps. So peaceful. In the glow of the city lights I can see the outline of her, like a ghost sleeping with me in bed. I let out a pained sigh. I hate myself for leaving Achilles, for hurting him. And I hate myself for hurting Briseis. Who was I to cause so many people pain? There was nothing at all special about me except for the fact that everyone who cares about me gets burned. 

    I carefully pull myself out from under Briseis and swing my legs over the side of our bed. I rub my hands over my face. What time was it? Three in the morning? There's no way I'm going to get any sleep for the rest of the night. I sit, my butt barely touching the bed, with my head resting in my hands, listening to the faint sound of the city outside my window. 

     Beside my bed there is a dark brown, wooden nightstand where I keep my things. There are three drawers on the night stand. The first two draws are junk, holding the stuff I don't have any other place for; a flashlight, a reading book, a half empty flask. The third drawer, though, I keep very neat and store my most private things in it. I reach for the third, it slides open without making a sound. I rummage through it carefully, moving some pictures and my notebook, until my fingertips brush a thin, crumpled piece of newspaper I keep hidden at the very bottom of the drawer. I pull the newspaper clipping out and hold it in my hands. It's two dark for me to read a word on the worn out page, but I don't need to see it. I've spent the last eight months memorizing every word. I hold it tightly in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut, holding it up to my chest. _ I think I'll go for a walk,  _ I think. 

     I grab my hoodie, zipping it only halfway, and quietly slip out of my apartment and out into the cool night. The slight chill comes almost as a blessing, since the day was so humid. Besides a few late night dog walkers and stumbling college students, the street is empty. There's a slight buzz coming from the busier part of town, but as far as city nights go, this one is particularly quiet. I jam my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and decided that I'll only walk a block of two so that I can be back in case Briseis wakes up.

     I come across the first street corner and decide to turn. The street I turn to is not nearly as brightly lit as the one I just came from. There are street lamps lining the road in front of my apartment, along the street I walk now, the only light comes from the apartments whose tenants are up way too late. The dim glow on the street might seem eerie, but to me it's strangely soothing. 

      "-how dare you tell me to calm down!" I hear a woman demand. I turn in the direction of the voice and see through the window of an apartments whose light is still on a man and a woman fighting. Even from a distance I can see the anger on the woman's face.

     "Baby, please..." the man tries to soothe. "Let's talk about this."

     "What is there to talk about? You fucked your secretary!"

     "One time. Please, baby, give me another chance. There are always second chances."

     "Not this time," she tells her husband, her voice dripping with ice. I move on. Though they're screaming loud enough for the entire city to here, I figure I'd give the unfortunate couple privacy. I keep walking, my head cast down, the woman's voice ringing in my ears.  _ Not this time.  _ I almost want to shake her. There  _ are _ always second chances and those who don't take them end up miserable and pass out in alleyways covered in their own vomit, always thinking-  _ If I could just go back _ . Who knows, maybe the couple is miserable. But if that man makes her at all happy, one time of infidelity shouldn't be worth the lifetime of happiness she was giving up. 

     "If I could just go back..." I whisper to myself. Maybe regret doesn't come from making a mistake, but instead from not fixing the mistake when you have the chance to. 

.  .  .  .  .

       Achilles sat with his back pressed against the wall of the subway strumming his guitar, his high clear voice ringing out, Johnny Cash flowing from his lips. He didn't notice me standing behind one of the pillars, watching him, listening to him play. Achilles looked different than how I remembered him. His hair was shorter than it had been before and more grudgy. I remembered a spark that used to flicker in Achilles' eyes every time he played, but now the man seemed haunted. I was lost in a trance while watching him. Allowing his voice to carry me through my memories, bringing back things that I thought I had locked away in my mind forever.

    "He's great isn't he?" an old woman asked, coming up behind me, breaking me from the spell.

   "He is," I agreed, not taking my eyes off of him.

   "You should tell him that," the old lady suggested.

   "I have before," I told her, distantly. "A million times."

   "What I don't seem to understand," she fretted, "is why he doesn't leave that guitar case open, so people can drop money inside."

   "He doesn't play for money," I informed her, shaking my head slightly.

   "He should, he's good enough to be a celebrity." I snorted.

   "Someone once told me that being a celebrity taints music, that fame takes away the soul," I said, my eyes beginning to wet.

   "Well, he certainly doesn't lack soul, that's for sure," she said. "My, my, my, he looks like he could have gone through Hell and back." I said nothing. I looked at Achilles and felt a longing in my chest, wishing I could go to him, but I didn't dare move. 

    "Do you... know him?" the woman asked. 

    "I did once," I told her, my stomach beginning to knot. "But that was a long time ago." Her eyes darted between me and Achilles.

   "Ohhhhh," she said as realization struck her. "Oh honey," she reached out and grabbed my hand. "Why don't you go to him?" I swallowed hard.

   "I can't," I whispered.

    "Are you afraid he won't take you back?" 

   "No," I sniffled, giving her a watery smile. "I know he would. He would in a second." I felt my chest tighten. "But he deserves better than me."

     "Oh, dear, there are always second chances," she told me. I felt a tear sting my face as it rolled down my cheek.

    "Not this time," I choked out.

.  .  .  .  .

    I slip back into my apartment as quietly as I'd slipped out, so that I won't wake Briseis. But when I come in I notice she's already awake. She's sitting on the side of the bed with her back turned to me, looking at something. The bedside lamp is turned on, casting shadows along the silk robe that is draped over her bare body. I open my mouth to say something but freeze when I notice the third drawer to my nightstand pulled wide open. 

     "What is this?" she asks quietly, not turning to face me. I swallow hard.

     "What is what?" I ask back, nervously. A sudden well of guilt builds up inside of me.

     "This!" Briseis shouts, turning and shoving the newspaper article in my face. " 'Automobile Accident Kills Four' " she says, reading the headline. 

      "Briseis, I-"

     "No! Stop talking. Stop lying to me. You act like you want to get over it, but you're torturing yourself with this shit," she wails, her eyes getting wet. I reach out for her, to try and comfort her. "Don't touch me." I pull away.

     "I don't know what to tell you," I tell her. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get over it. It's practically my fault."

     "How can it possibly be your fault?" she chokes out. 

     "I don't know," I whine. "Like maybe if I was there he wouldn't have been so reckless." She starts to cry.

     "We're never going to move past this. It will always be about him, won't it?" 

      "Briseis," I whisper softly. "I'm so sorry."

     "Stop" she cries. "I'm not the one you need to apologize to." I go over to her now and hold her. And she lets me. Briseis always was the shoulder I cried on and now it's time for me to return the favor. I let her sob into my chest. I'm ruining her, I know that now. And she's right. She's always right. I lean back onto our bed and Briseis lays on my chest until she falls asleep. 

     I lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. How do you move on? For Briseis I have to try. How could I carry Achilles only in my heart, so that my mind can be free? I'm tired of hurting. And tired of weighing Briseis down. If moving on was what I have to do, then I have to at least try. But maybe letting go doesn't mean forgetting the past, that is what I'm afraid of. But maybe letting go means embracing the past, allowing it to make you better so that you can have the strength to face the future. 

 

    I cast my eyes down so that I can see the leaves as they crunch beneath my feet. I have a bag from the grocery swinging in one hand and apprehension sitting in my chest. I come up to a large grey tombstone and squat down.

   "You were never one for flowers," I say, reaching into the bag. "So, I brought you some figs instead, because I know how much you like them, and I thought you might be hungry." I place a fig in front of the gravestone and bite into another one. The juice flows out from the corner of my mouth, dribbling down my chin. "Mmmm, they're sweet and delicious, kind of like you," I laugh miserably. I turn my eyes up to look at the sky, feeling my eyes fill up with tears. "So, um, it's been a while. Like, it's been a really long time," I point out, wiping a tear from my cheek. "But, I'm here now. I'm here to apologize for being such a coward." I take in a deep breath. "God, I was so afraid, baby. I was afraid of loosing you, and then I was too afraid to face you. You said none of this shit mattered, and you were right. My life wasn't in that dingy apartment, it was with you. You were always my better half and if I could go back," I let out a shudder, "if I could go back I would have went with you. I would have fixed my greatest regret." My chest fills with sorrow and I begin to shake. "God, I miss you," I cry, not able to see through my tears any longer. "I miss you and I should have come sooner, but I'm here now, for whatever that's worth." I lean my forehead against the cold tombstone and let myself sob. "I should have went with you or grabbed you when I saw you in the subway to tell you that I loved you, that I still love you and am never going to stop. I should have... I should have... should," I break down, wrapping my arms around the gravestone to hold myself up. Achilles Pelides, it reads. 1988-2015: Son and friend. But I can think of a million other things to add. Lover, musician, hero. Shield. 

     "Can you forgive me?" I whisper. A gust of wind sweeps by, ruffling my hair. Something taps my knee. I look down, stunned to see a soccer ball had rolled up and hit me.

     "Sorry," a little boy calls running up to it. "The wind blew it out of control."

     "That's okay," I say, my throat dry from crying. I let out a short laugh of disbelief. "It's going to be okay."

 

 


End file.
